


On the Flip of a Coin

by romanticalgirl



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:41:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The miles between gigs leave a lot of room for self doubt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Flip of a Coin

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://shinetheway.livejournal.com/profile)[**shinetheway**](http://shinetheway.livejournal.com/) for [](http://bandomstuffsit.livejournal.com/profile)[**bandomstuffsit**](http://bandomstuffsit.livejournal.com/).

  
It’s not as though this is anything new. This is how it is night after night, _every_ night, coming back to the van too drunk to function, too fucked up to do more than pour themselves into the back seats and sleep it off and start all over again. Gerard doesn’t do sober, and it keeps getting worse no matter how much Frank hopes that getting bigger will mean getting better.

Hotel nights are the worst because instead of hitting the road, they hit the clubs. Mikey sobers up some, dancing and sweating it out, but Gerard finds the bar and buries himself in layer after layer of booze, hiding behind the shield of it.

Frank and Ray flip a coin, but Frank’s pretty sure it’s rigged because Ray always gets Mikey and once he’s danced his fill or gotten off with someone, he’s complacent and practically fucking docile. Frank gets Gerard who gets louder, more defiant, and if Frank’s correct in reading the look the guy next to Gerard is giving him, into a whole fuckload more hurt.

“Sex, drugs and rock and roll,” Frank mutters to himself, trying to plow his way through the crowd. “When do I get some of that, huh?”

He doesn’t make it before the first punch gets thrown because he hits a pocket of fans who mangle his last name. If he tells them to fuck off, he’ll never hear the end of it from Gerard, but telling them that some frat boy reject is busy fucking Gerard up seems worse. He manages polite but terse, and he still doesn’t make it before the bouncers break things up. Shit.

“I’ll take him,” he tells the bouncer who looks like someone made him up of malformed spare parts.

“You paying his tab too?”

Frank hopes he’s got enough credit on the card he tosses on the bar, shoving his wallet in his mouth so he can catch Gerard when the bouncer dumps him. The leather tastes like sweat, ass, and van, and Frank wants to gag. Instead he shoves Gerard onto the stool, signs the slip, takes his card and shoves his wallet back into his pocket. “Come on, Gee,” Frank sighs, helping him back to his feet. “This party’s over.”

**

The other shit thing about Ray taking care of Mikey is that it means Ray gets his own bed. Mikey cuddles with Gerard, but everyone else he gives their space unless they invite him in. Gerard, on the other hand, snuggles his smelly-ass, drunk body against whoever he shares a room with.

“’m tired, Frankie.” He drawls out the words, the thick Jersey accent slipping in. Normally it’s only an echo in a few words, but given the booze, the lack of real sleep, and the bloody nose, he sounds like he’s been possessed by Joe Pesci.

“Don’t care. Bathroom.”

Gerard makes a face that most people reserve for words like ‘abattoir’ or ‘gas chamber.’ “Don’ wanna.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Makes me look tough.”

Frank gives him a little push toward the bathroom. “Makes you look like an attack marshmallow. Go.”

“Ghostbusters. Mean marshmallow.”

“He was also a fifty foot sailor. _Go_.”

“You’re mean.” He’s gotten to the point that the word is dragged out, nasal and twangy as shit.

“Damn right.” Frank follows Gerard into the bathroom. “Clothes off.”

Gerard looks absolutely horrified, the blood working in conjunction to make him look like a horror movie extra. “You’re gon’ make me _shower_?”

“Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.” He tugs Gerard’s shirt up and over his head, holding his breath as he tosses it. “Need to burn that before it becomes fucking sentient.”

“’s m’ fucking shirt. ‘s Godzilla.”

“Yeah, storming Tokyo.” Frank slaps Gerard’s hands away as he tries to use them like jaws, snapping at Frank’s head. “Don’t make me get fucking Mothra, dude.” He undoes Gerard’s belt and then his jeans.

“Can do it.” Gerard shoves his jeans down, nearly twisting himself into a heap at Frank’s feet as he tries to bend down and get them over his shoes.

“What is my fucking life?” Frank sighs as he pushes Gerard onto the toilet, ignoring his shriek as his bare ass hits the cold porcelain. He jerks Gerard’s shoes off along with the rest of his clothes. Naked, drunk and bleeding. This is his front man, ladies and gentlemen.

“’f I were Jim Mor’son, I could totally die like this.”

“If you were Jim Morrison, you’d already be dead in France or starring in your version of ‘Eddie and the Cruisers.’”

“That was a _great_ movie.”

Frank stands up and turns on the shower, letting the water get warm before he looks back at Gerard. “Are you going to be able to stay vertical in there?”

“Yeah. Sure. Wait. Which way’s vertical?”

Frank sighs again and strips down. Gerard frowns but doesn’t say anything, and Frank figures he should be thankful for small favors. He helps Gerard back to his feet. “C’mon. In you go.”

They’re staying at a fucking Super 8, so it’s not like the shower is built for two, but Frank manages to get them close to clean or at least, in Gerard’s case, definitely cleaner. He stands under the spray, leaning against Gerard, until the water starts to turn cold. He reaches out and turns the knob without moving, letting the steam linger heavy in the air for a while before he looks up. Gerard’s breathing is off slightly, his nose swollen.

“Is it broken?”

Gerard shakes his head, spraying Frank’s face and the shower door with water. Frank manages not to roll his eyes, though he does get out and throw a towel at Gerard. “Don’t rub your face.”

There’s a strange kind of silence as they dry off, one Frank can’t put his finger on. He wraps the towel around his waist and finger combs his hair, watching from the corner of his eyes as Gerard walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. “You okay?”

Gerard looks up, nodding as Frank comes and joins him. “My face hurts.”

“I can only imagine. I mean, it’s _killing_ me.”

Gerard giggles first, which makes Frank giggle, then Gerard actually laughs. Frank can’t help following along, and pretty soon they’re both on their backs on the bed, trying to suppress the last vestiges of amusement. Frank turns his head and looks at Gerard. He’s come a long way in the relatively short time they’ve been doing this, and for a second, Frank tries to imagine if he ever though he’d see Gerard in just a towel looking comfortable in his own skin.

“What was the fight about?”

Gerard starts, kicked out of wherever his thoughts had taken him. “Typical homophobic bullshit.”

“Still?” Frank smirks. “Still, that’s usually not enough to bring on the fisticuffs.”

“You’ve been playing Scrabble with Saporta again, haven’t you?”

“Only the dirty version. Also, fisticuffs is a fucking awesome word.” Gerard is hedging, diverting, and Frank debates letting him get away with it for a moment before he raises up on his elbow. “C’mon, Gee.”

“They were talking about me and you.”

“Being gay?”

“Yeah.”

“Together?” Gerard shrugs and Frank can’t help but frown. “We’ve been getting that since day one, Gee.” He says it softly, carefully. “It’s kind of part of our thing, right?”

“It was how they said it.”

“Which was?”

“It’s nothing, Frankie.”

“Gerard.” He’ll keep pushing and eventually Gerard will give in. They both know that.

Sighing, Gerard shrugs again. “They just shouldn’t say shit about you.”

“They said shit about me?” He’s torn between being pissed that Gerard hadn’t mentioned it so he could have plowed into the fight with him, or being relieved for exactly the same reasons.

“They just shouldn’t insult you like that.”

“The fuckers _insulted_ me?” He’s not torn anymore, and if he thought they’d still be there, he’d go back to the bar and bust some heads. Or kneecaps.

“You wouldn’t ever have to settle for someone like me.”

Whatever words and anger he has disappear at that. He looks at Gerard for a long moment, completely lost. “What?”

“Look at you.” Gerard doesn’t look, keeping his eyes locked on the water stains on the ceiling. “You’re…”

“What?” He asks it gently this time, reaching out with his free hand to catch Gerard’s chin and make him look at him. He still tries to avoid Frank’s gaze, but Frank holds him there until their eyes meet.

“You’re gorgeous. Hot.”

Frank manages not to laugh, pretty sure it wouldn’t go over at all right now. “I’m short. I get sick all the time and my hair is always in my face unless I shave it off.” He shakes his head. “And I’m not saying I have more things wrong with me or anything. I’m just saying that one man’s meat is another man’s poison.” He can’t quite catch the giggle that slips out at that, but he does stop it before it gets out of control. “Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder.”

“Okay, fine.” Gerard shrugs, nearly dislodging his chin from Frank’s grasp. “You have a lot of beholders.”

“So the fuck do you. Yeah, some of it’s the music and some of it’s the rest of us, Gee, but a _lot_ of it is you. They’re coming to see you.”

Gerard’s brow furrows and Frank can almost hear the gears turning. “Huh. I mean…huh. Really?”

Frank nods. “Yeah. Really.”

“Huh.”

“And anyone implying that we’re having sex is not insulting me. Or you. We’re both hot. Got it?”

“Yeah.” Gerard closes his eyes, and Frank can’t help watching. The embarrassment and lack of self-esteem are subdued like this, pushed back behind their closet doors and out of sight. Gerard looks comfortable again. “It’s hard sometimes. Because all I see is this.”

Frank’s eyes follow the hand Gerard gestures with, a sweep that goes from shoulder to knees. “This is what they see too. What we see.” Frank reaches out, following the path of Gerard’s gesture, fingertips actually touching the skin from collarbone to the terrycloth of the towel. “What I see.”

Gerard’s eyes are open when Frank looks up, still tinged with alcohol, but sharp. When he speaks, his voice has the low murmur to it that reminds Frank of late nights and early mornings. “Do you like what you see, Frankie?”

Frank rests his hand on Gerard’s stomach, splaying his fingers over the pale skin, making it seem even whiter next to his tattoos. They’ve played at this on stage, deliberately challenging conventions, giving in to the fact that performing really fucking turns them on. That’s not what Gerard is asking though, not the question hanging heavy in the air.

“Pretty sure I answered this already.” Frank keeps his voice light. “You fishing for compliments, Gee?”

He sees the hint of Gerard’s smile and knows he can let it go right here and now and it won’t come up again. And he knows Gerard won’t ever let him see these moments of self-doubt again, afraid Frank might think he’s the cause of them. He weighs both options – letting it go and making things easier on himself and maybe losing a possibility, or taking a chance at something else.

“Get some sleep.” Frank gives himself an out that’s not quite one or the other, letting them both sober up before going too far. He huffs a soft laugh and leans in, kissing Gerard softly. “And ask me again in the morning.”  



End file.
